On an unusual January morning
I grab my bright pink running shoes
along with a decidedly somber umbrella
and head out into the drizzle and the rain
the wakefulness infused in what feels like spring
rushes into my veins
working in tangent
with the fantasies held in winter sleep
still unfolding in my mind
I walk in that place
where dreams and reality swirl together
over sidewalks laced with autumn leaves
and Christmas tree pine needles
I watch fog rolling over fields of
snow and green grass
ghostlike
and alive
the fog winding its way through woods
still clinging tenaciously to last year’s leaves
all while my skin is tingling like it does
right before an electrical storm
when the air is restless with magic
and I wonder
I wonder
if the plants and seeds lying dormant in the frozen ground
are gifted with a flash of awareness
of all that they might become in the lushness of summer
on unusual January mornings
such as this